


that fire you ignited

by growlery writes (growlery)



Series: college hockey au [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Hockey, Ice Skating, M/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 07:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17741357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery%20writes
Summary: Miller's in sweatpants and his signed Subban Habs jersey and he's grinning at Monty, a little smug but mostly excited, and it's just. Miller's a lot to deal with, generally, what with the hockey body and the perfect smile and the, like, genuinely being a pretty incredible person thing. Just after Monty's woken up when he still feels fuzzy and soft, it's kind of torture.





	that fire you ignited

**Author's Note:**

> for 100fandoms, prompt: can

“Monty. Monty. _Monty_. Monty.”

Monty's awake, but he extremely does not want to be. He can't keep pretending he's not for much longer; Miller's known him too long to be fooled and Monty knows from experience that he'll resort to drastic measures if Monty doesn't get up by himself. 

He flicks one reluctant eye open. Miller's in sweatpants and his signed Subban Habs jersey and he's grinning at Monty, a little smug but mostly excited, and it's just. Miller's a lot to deal with, generally, what with the hockey body and the perfect smile and the, like, genuinely being a pretty incredible person thing. Just after Monty's woken up when he still feels fuzzy and soft, it's kind of torture. 

“What time is it,” Monty manages, and honestly Miller should just be grateful Monty is able to make words happen right now. 

“Like, eight,” Miller says, and Monty groans, turning his face to smother it in his pillow. “We've got to get there early if we wanna beat the crowds, come on.”

“Where is there,” Monty says, muffled, “and why is it so important you'd wake me before noon on a day I don't have class.”

There's a weird silence before Miller replies. “The ice rink,” he says, something off in his voice. “I was gonna teach you how to skate.”

It takes longer than it should for that to filter into Monty's brain, but when he does he sits up quickly, so quickly he gets a little dizzy and his vision swims. 

“It's cool if you changed your mind,” Miller says, as it's clearing. “I know you hate skating.”

“I don't hate skating, I'm just bad at it,” Monty says, “and I hate doing things I'm bad at.”

Miller smirks at him. “Can't be good at everything, Monty.”

“Not yet,” Monty says brightly. “You're gonna teach me, right? Star defenceman Nate Miller.”

Miller shakes his head, but he's smiling; he's having a really fucking good season and everyone knows it, him and the team and the scouts in the stands at their games. Miller's always said he wants to finish up college before trying to go pro but Monty knows he's had offers. 

And that's great. Monty's happy for him. He'll support Miller whatever he chooses to do, because Miller's one of his best friends and Monty kind of loves him, but Monty's also kind of a lot in love with him. He has to keep shoving aside the selfish, greedy part of himself that never wants Miller to leave. 

*

Miller's brought his own skates, and he gets them on easily while Monty struggles into his rented ones. Miller watches him, amused, for a few seconds, before he shakes his head and goes down on one knee in front of Monty. 

“Uh,” Monty says, several parts of his brain shorting out at once, several more giving up the ghost when Miller takes his hands and moves them gently away so Miller can lace the skates up for him. Monty shoves his hands under his knees so he won't do something unwise, like try and touch Miller. “Um. Thanks.”

“I wanna get on the ice sometime before the heat death of the universe,” Miller says, flicking his gaze up briefly to smirk at Monty. Monty's very glad he's sitting on his hands. 

Monty's a bit wobbly when he stands up, not used to walking on such a narrow surface like the skate blade, and when he sways into Miller's side he swears it wasn't intentional. Miller slings a loose arm around his shoulders to keep him steady, and Monty's still allowed to enjoy that, right? 

Monty wasn't lying before. He really doesn't hate skating, couldn't given the amount of time he spends watching Miller do it, and he does want to learn. He's even pretty excited to do it, but that all drains away just as they're about to step onto the ice. Monty freezes. 

Beside him, Miller stops. He's still holding Monty up, so he kind of has to, but still. 

“You okay?” he asks, and Monty tries to smile at him. 

“Yeah, just nervous,” Monty says, which isn't untrue. He's nervous about getting on the ice and falling on his face and everybody here seeing it. There's only a couple of people, mostly singles and one parent and child, because Miller was right even though Monty will never tell him so, but still. Monty would be nervous even if it were just the two of them and an abandoned rink, because Miller would still be there. 

“It's okay,” Miller says, with a gentleness Monty doesn't usually see from him. His hand slides down Monty's arm, grasps Monty's wrist for a brief second. “We can leave whenever you want to. We can leave right now.”

“No,” Monty says quickly, because the only thing worse than publicly and embarrassing failing at this would be giving up at the last second. “No, just.” He smiles, more genuine this time. “You're not gonna let me fall, right?”

“Never,” Miller says, still with that gentleness, and it's a good thing he's holding onto Monty because Monty's knees go weak. 

Actually stepping onto the ice is exactly as terrifying as Monty thought it would be. But Miller holds him steady, tells him to lean forward, waits patiently for Monty to stop wobbling. When he does, Miller grins at him, which is honestly really counterproductive to keeping Monty upright. 

“Great,” Miller says. “Think you can try and move now?”

He says it with no judgement, no mockery at all, and Monty despairs enough that he can't stop himself from saying, “Stop being so nice to me. It's weird.”

“I'm always nice to you,” Miller says lightly, and Monty shakes his head. 

“You're, like, Nate-Miller-nice to me.”

“What does that mean?” Miller asks, somewhere between confused and amused. 

Monty shrugs. “You know,” he says. “You're kind of a dick, but you're nice about it.”

“I'm nice about being a dick,” Miller repeats, having settled on amused. 

“You know what I mean,” Monty says, exasperated. “You're not, like.” He struggles for the right word. “Gentle.”

“Gentle,” Miller repeats, and now Monty doesn't know what he is; he can't read the expression on Miller's face, and his voice sounds kind of weird.

“Sorry, I made it weird,” Monty says. Miller doesn't say anything in response, and Monty offers, “It's nice. You being… nice.” He makes a face. “That has completely stopped sounding like a word.”

Miller's quiet for a second longer, but then he laughs, genuine. Monty relaxes. 

“So just to be clear here, do you want me to go back to being a dick or not?” Miller asks, and he's teasing Monty, Monty knows that, but he can't help but be honest, anyway.

“Just be yourself,” he says, and Miller just looks at him for a moment before he nods. 

*

Moving on skates is actually not as bad as Monty had prepared himself for it to be. It helps that Miller's skating beside him, holding him by the wrist and grabbing him when he loses his balance. That might also be contributing to Monty losing his balance, because the cool, firm pressure of Miller's fingers on his skin is pretty distracting, especially when he thumbs absently over Monty's pulse point like he doesn't realise he's doing it, but Monty's not about to tell him to let go. 

At one point, Miller turns so he's skating backwards in front of Monty and takes Monty's other wrist. Miller's smirking, clearly trying to show off his vastly superior skills. Monty swallows hard, but rallies valiantly, enough to give Miller the appropriate amount of shit for it. Both Miller's thumbs are stroking Monty's skin now and Monty hopes Miller doesn't notice his heart rate increasing. 

Monty doesn't realise they've done a full lap of the rink until Miller skates to a stop and halts Monty in his tracks and Monty notices where they are. 

“I did it!” he says, delighted, and he can feel that he's beaming something silly, but he can't help it and doesn't want to. 

“Congratulations,” Miller says dryly, “you skated a hundred and fifty metres.”

“I think you'll find it was five hundred feet,” Monty says loftily, and Miller rolls his eyes in Canadian. “Regardless, I fucking did it.”

“You did,” Miller says, and he's smiling at Monty like he can't help it. Monty beams at him even harder. “Ready to go again?”

“Fuck yeah,” Monty says, and finds that he means it. 

They skate around again, and again, and on the fourth time they push off, Monty feels giddy with the joy of feeling like he can do this. Miller notices his increased confidence and grins, letting go of Monty's wrist, which Monty's kind of sad about, but it means Miller thinks he can do this, and that's definitely better. 

“Okay, yeah,” he says, as they walk back to the changing rooms once their hour's up. Monty could probably manage his skates fine now, but Miller offers his arm and Monty's not going to turn down another chance to touch him. “That was fucking great. Thanks for dragging me out.”

Miller's clearly trying to be smug, but it's fighting hard with the fond smile that's all over his face. “Any time,” he says.


End file.
